


Something Holy

by sheepyshavings



Category: Portrait de la jeune fille en feu | Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22595452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepyshavings/pseuds/sheepyshavings
Summary: A glimpse into the first night and into the morning
Relationships: Héloïse & Marianne (Portrait of a Lady on Fire)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 149





	Something Holy

**Author's Note:**

> Authors note: Wow, it took me so long to get to the point where I’m even coherent enough to write fanfiction for this movie. Well done, Ms. Sciamma.
> 
> Thanks to the folks on the p. 28 discord and my friends who pushed me to finish this. :)

Marianne’s lips begin to dry under the insistence of Héloïse’s mouth. She gasps between the kisses, trying to wet her lips but failing as she’s pulled in again, a boat brought under over and over by a storm at sea. She skirts her hands around Héloïse’s front, blindly looking for a knot to untie, fingers tangling against the ribbon until she feels it give. Only then does Héloïse part from her, becoming still. Locking their eyes, Héloïse undoes the knots slowly, motioning for Marianne to do the same.  Their dance of undress is accompanied by the fire, shapes thrown across the room as clothes fall to the floor: the rustle of fabric, the soft steps out of skirts, the silent sprig of goosebumps erupting onto Marianne’s skin as she stands bare. The fire casts a harsh light on Héloïse’s face, half glowing like the sun, half shrouded in shadow. Her nose throws a dark mountain across her cheekbones and she stands with her arms at her sides, defiant even in undress.

Marianne sighs and closes the space between them again, the need to touch the other woman becoming unbearable. She thinks Héloïse murmurs something in her ear, but the words are lost in the heaviness of their breaths, their skin coming together over and over again, the way Marianne’s whole mind is a chorus of sighs and moans so overwhelming she can’t remember ever hearing another sound. She wants to touch every inch of Héloïse, spread her out, paint the curves of her lips and the dip of her legs, fall into the woman in front of her and never surface.

They push and pull and take and give, moving toward the bed without thought until Marianne feels the sheets brush against the back of her legs. She lets herself curl at the knee and fall back, gently pulling Héloïse down with her. Héloïse is all heat and skin, never stilling, kissing paths along Marianne’s neck, her chin, her shoulder, a puff of breath against her ear. Héloïse is eager and messy, and Marianne closes her eyes and lets herself just feel.

She feels Héloïse’s hand trace the swell of stomach, tickling the skin below her breasts, hesitating there. Marianne opens her eyes to find Héloïse stilled above her, gaze meeting hers with both hunger and hesitation.

“I haven’t…”

Marianne’s hands come to cup Héloïse’s face, pulling her down into a kiss in which Marianne tries to pour every exquisite emotion rolling inside of her.

“You could never be wrong,” Marianne says into the lips covering her own. She leans back and raises her arms above her head.  _ I am yours _ she wants to say. Instead, she turns her lips up and stares at the woman above her until the corner of Héloïse’s mouth twitches and breaks into a grin. Letting out an almost inaudible laugh, Héloïse draws her hand along the insides of Marianne’s thighs, nonsense patterns against the hairs that grow darker and thicker the higher she goes. She leans down over Marianne and presses their mouths together, lingering there for a moment before beginning a trail from chin to neck, making Marianne’s breath hitch as she bares her teeth against the rise of the collarbones below.

Marianne ceases to be silent as Héloïse finds her breasts. She feels her back arch off the bed and into the touch, pleasure sprouting in her belly like the first flowers of spring. Héloïse’s mouth is a pinpoint of heat, a fire lit and spreading uncontained over the expanse of Marianne’s body. She reaches for something to hold onto, one hand fisted in the sheets beside her, one anchoring into Héloïse’s hair. The strands come undone, falling around Héloïse’s head like a curtain as she moves across to give equal attention to every inch of Marianne. She lifts her head to breathe, a line of spit trailing from her mouth visible where the hair parts.

“Come here,” Marianne pleads, beckoning Héloïse up until their mouths are joined again.

Héloïse drags her fingertips up toward the apex of Marianne’s thighs, butterfly kisses against the heat growing there. Marianne tries to shift against the friction, an impulse, and unstoppable need building inside her. She feels her hips reach toward Héloïse’s hand, a moth seeking light, and Héloïse finally obliges. Héloïse tangles her fingers in the coarse hair, dragging them up and down before tracing around the outside of Marianne. A moment of hesitation, and then Marianne bites her lips as she feels Héloïse drag up her center. If she was drowning before, this is the first breath of air as she breaks the surface, an ecstasy so divine she can’t help but tense all the muscles in her body.

Héloïse’s touch leaves her and she feels the weight on the bed shift. Marianne’s chest heaves up and down, a coldness moving in between her thighs to replace the molten that had been there moments before, the loss of feeling making her squirm. Her eyes slowly open.

Héloïse’s hands are hard to make out in the dim room, but Marianne can see the darkness staining the fingertips, a web of blood and arousal backlit by the flames of the fire. Her heart stutters like a bird caught in the wind, nervousness freezing her movements. She opens her mouth before any words form, her breath too loud against the silence of Héloïse’s stare. And then Héloïse reaches out slowly, her eyes unreadable in the darkness. She takes her right hand and cups Marianne’s face, bringing her left hand up next to it. With the barest of touches, she pushes a fingertip onto Marianne’s lips. Marianne feels the wetness left there, the tang of copper filling her nostrils, the stickiness quickly becoming tacky against her skin. Héloïse pulls her hand back, gaze never breaking, and presses a finger to her own lips. Marianne remains still as she watches the firelight dance across Héloïse’s face, the smear of darkness a stain against her skin.

Héloïse leans forward and kisses Marianne.

It’s a strange taste, the mix of blood and herself pushing against the heat of their mouths. She leans in and Héloïse pushes back, opening her mouth sliding her tongue along Marianne’s lips, as if to say  _ I want all of you. _

Marianne closes her eyes and gives.

\--

It’s impossible to catch the sun and put it in a bottle, and Marianne knows she’ll never be able to capture Héloïse in a single portrait now. There’s too much of her, too much to fit onto one canvas, too much to be captured by a painting. A portrait of Héloïse would demand the sky and heavens, and even then it would never be enough.

\--

She awakens to the crackling of a dying ember in the fireplace. The air has cooled from the heat of before, the skin, the fire, the way she thought their breath might combust into flames between them. Rolling over, Marianne does her best to undo herself from the sheets. Bare from head to toe, she slowly teeters onto her feet and moves to the fireplace. There’s a pleasant hum between her legs, the residue of pleasure caked along her skin like the remnants of a flood. She tends to the fire, shivering from the loss of the sheets, the warmth of the body next to her. Once the embers are alight again, she quickly tiptoes back to the bed only to find Héloïse rolled onto her side with eyes half-open. Marianne slips back in, burying herself amongst the covers and the woman next to her. She reaches a hand out and brushes the strand of hair away from Héloïse’s face, letting her fingers linger on the skin between the jaw and earlobe. The sky outside is still dark, dawn yet lingering behind the sea.

“One must show the ear and study its cartilage closely, even if covered with hair.”

“Hm?” Héloïse blinks, sleep scattered in flakes along the corners of her eyes. Marianne leans over and lets her lips graze the skin of Héloïse’s cheek, the woman beneath her pushing into the touch.

“A lesson in painting,” she whispers into Héloïse’s ear.

“What else?” Héloïse says, little more than a hum against the silence of the room. Marianne lowers her lips from the cheekbone down to Héloïse’s neck.

“The tendons in the neck,” she starts, leaving a trail of small kisses until she reaches the crest of Héloïse’s collarbones, “must be pronounced.” She continues her descent, the skin warm and flushed against her touch.

“And beyond that?” Héloïse’s voice is almost inaudible. She shifts and Marianne feels a hand come to the back of her neck, fingers squeezing gently.

“Below the neck-” Marianne starts, slowly, excruciatingly lowering her mouth along the expanse of skin. She reaches around and threads her fingers through Héloïse’s hair. “-is not something I was taught by my father.”

“But surely you’ve done it.”

“Perhaps.”

Marianne blindly finds the swell of Héloïse’s breast and Héloïse seems to forget the rest of her questions.

\--

The early morning sun shines through the thin curtains veiling the room from the outside. Marianne’s eyes open to the sound of a birdsong floating through the air, the soft coo stark against the stillness. She doesn’t move at first, staring at the ceiling and feeling the way her body melts into the mattress. She closes her eyes again and breathes in, the air passing through her lips, down her throat, into her lungs as her belly expands. She holds it in for a moment, suspending her thoughts in the process. They float around her like particles of dust frozen in a ray of light, out of reach, unintelligible.

The bed dips beside her and Héloïse’s breath comes heavy against her cheek. They say nothing to each other, Marianne keeping her eyes closed. A breath in, a breath out. Héloïse matches her.

“Are you awake?” Héloïse murmurs. She reaches a hand under the covers and places it on Marianne’s stomach, palm hot like the embers in the fireplace. Marianne keeps still but turns her head to rest her gaze upon Héloïse.

“No, are you?”

Héloïse’s lips curl into a smile and she keeps Marianne’s gaze for a moment longer before burying her head back into the covers. It strikes Marianne then, watching Héloïse tangle into the bedsheets. It’s a sudden vice grip around her chest, squeezing the breath from her body. She half-expects the sea to come crashing through the window, the wind to shatter the glass and tear tiles from the roof above them. There’s no name that comes forth from her mind, no words she can taste on her tongue to describe it. The feeling wraps around her heart like fire, and she wants to rip the beating organ out of her chest as it burns hotter and hotter. It’s exquisite, it’s excruciating.

There’s a sting at the corner of her eyes and she feels a tear burn down her cheek. Héloïse’s stare is trained on her own as Marianne comes back to the present.

“Why are you crying?” Héloïse asks, the crease between her brows deepening. She doesn’t wait for an answer before reaching over and wiping the trail from Marianne’s face. “Did I upset you?”

“No,” Marianne finds the word coming abruptly before her mind catches up. “No,” she says again, this time more softly, grabbing Héloïse’s hand in her own and squeezing. “You did the opposite.”

“And you cry?”

“Yes.”

Héloïse seems to ponder on this for a moment, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Okay.”

Héloïse keeps their hands clasped tightly together, rolling over until she hovers above Marianne. “Show me,” she says, dropping her head and dusting kisses across Marianne’s nose. “I think I felt it before, but I want to make sure.”

Marianne’s chest tightens again and she draws in a deep breath to center herself. She rests her free hand against Héloïse’s heart and stills it there, feeling the steady thrumming beneath her fingers.

She lifts her neck and captures Héloïse’s lips with her own. “Okay.”

\--

_ “Isn’t it amazing,” she said. “There’s something holy about it.” _

_ I nodded solemnly, wanting to say something perfect. _

_ “Thank you for the honor.” _

**Author's Note:**

> (quote at the end from "Bovril Pam")
> 
> Thanks for reading y'all. This piece was super hard for me to write because I saw it as sort of a love poem for the movie. Portrait has touched me in a way no other piece of art has before, and I hope I can share a little bit of that love with all you wonderful readers. <3


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